


Google Dates

by psychobeanpole



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Crack, First Date, Getting Together, M/M, Online Dating, Tinder date, serial killer in love with a writer, shyan, sorry - Freeform, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16029878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychobeanpole/pseuds/psychobeanpole
Summary: Prompt: A dating service where matching based on people’s search history exists. Shane is a writer. He goes on a date with a serial killer.semi-crack fic; mild sexual content





	Google Dates

Shane Madej scans the crowd for his Google date, Ricky Goldsworth. The street is particularly crowded this Friday night, and being in a crowd in this part of the neighbourhood, Shane kept a close eye on his wallet, hyper-aware of any suspicious bumps and distractions that will result in him not being able to pay for the dinner. 

A man bumped into him and he felt the wallet slip out of his back pocket. Ready for anything, Shane sprung into action with an adrenaline rush and grabbed the wrist of the offender - 

It’s Ricky. 

The shorter man chuckled dryly. “Nice reflexes, Tinsley.” 

The writer relaxed his firm grip. “Please, call me Shane.” he smiled at Ricky politely. 

Ricky smirked as he returned the wallet. “And do you spell ‘Shane’ with a C or a C?” Shane flushed in embarrassment of his alias. Ricky added, “Just messin’ with ya, pal. People like us… it’s easier to hide your name than to skip town every time you fuck up, huh?” Ricky nudged Shane’s elbow, but the height difference got him nudging his rib instead. 

It’s a weird thing to say, but there might be some truth to it? Shane ponders. If I fuck up a date under my current name, it’d be easier to ghost Google dates with a new alias, so the reputation wouldn’t precede myself. So is Ricky a fake name too? 

In the meantime, Ricky has talked to the hostess and they were soon lead inside. The man gently holds Shane’s hand as they stepped in and wove around the tables to their seat. Shane’s heart skipped a little when their hands touched - god, he feels so easy. He’s a hopeless romantic, but he knew not to expect much of an online date. 

The new Google Dates app has been a topic of discussion in town in the past three months, and it was only a week ago that Shane decided to join the app. The thing about it is… there is nothing to insert. Type in your Google account details, and you’re basically good to go. The only manual input is your bio, a few pictures and a first name/ nickname. Google knows the rest. The app then basically accesses your searches in the past few years, and finds you a date with similar searches. Success stories have been heard about people finding love with similar interests - Game of Thrones geeks getting together, astrophysicists finding a date with similar wit, and pairing up lesbians/bi girls with the same unhealthy obsession with Stephanie Beatriz from Brooklyn Nine Nine. It’s a guarantee that there won’t be awkward dead air on your dates - given that the couple finds their common interest. 

That’s right, the app won’t tell you what your common searches are. You have to find it out on the first date - it’s part of the fun, said the developers. 

In their text messages, Shane and Ricky found their common searches after a week of texting. They both seem to mildly enjoy… cryptid hunting shows? It appears that Shane watches a few bigfoot hunting shows, while Ricky has watched a few clips of “proof bigfoot is real” and “mothman: a small town’s sensation” on youtube. That’s about it. So far, the app has been… unimpressive. 

“So…” started Ricky, after the two has ordered their meals. “Did you just make up “C. C. Tinsley” as a fake name for a dating site?” 

Shane replied, “It’s my pen name, actually.” He suddenly realized that the topic of their occupations never came up. “I’m a writer actually, and I publish under C.C. TInsley.” 

“Ahh,” said Ricky. “What stories do you write, Tinsley?” 

“Crime thrillers,” replied Shane. “I tried to write lighter things, but the words just don’t come as naturally to me.” 

Shane thought the topic was small talk and light enough, but a weighted silence fell between them. Or to put it more accurately, on Goldsworth only. The ever-present smirk on his face holds still, and suddenly his lips parted more as if in realization. 

“So, uh, Ricky, what do you -” 

“Shane,” uttered Ricky. Slowly, as if testing him, “Metaphorically, if you were to kill someone, how would you do it?” 

“Air shot between the toes, it’ll look like a heart attack.” Shane replied instinctively. He thinks about it a lot. When he was writing his second book, he gained the knowledge from his research - 

Oh. 

Ricky sucked in a breath, gaze meeting Shane’s eyes. He seemingly landed on a similar reaction. Oh. But it was a different kind of “oh”. He looks… aroused? 

Wait, does that mean Ricky is a writer like him? He doesn’t look like the writer type at all. But if these gory searches was the actual thing bringing them together, then… 

“Oh, look, we, uh,” Ricky babbled, trying so hard to leave the trance, “We’re both writers! That’s great.” 

“Yeah, answer me this,” Shane wonders where the bravery came from. He peels off a breadstick piece and, almost seductively, eats it. “How long would it take to die if you were to potentially stab someone in the guts?” 

“Well, anywhere from 2 to 30 minutes.” Ricky answered without thinking. “The key is to get the abdominal artery.” 

“Thanks, man. The internet couldn’t give me a solid answer.” Shane smiled like the suavest guy on the planet, but he felt weak all over. Weak for the guy, who sat across the table from him silently, his identity exposed and his expression now predatory but, god! He still reeks of confidence. 

“Ricky I know I should be running to the police station right now,” breathed Shane, his voice suddenly hoarse, “but that was so fucking hot.” 

Without warning, the serial killer stood up and grabbed his jacket - not before Shane could see the bulge of his raging boner - and yanked Shane up by his arm. He signaled Shane to leave the restaurant with him. Shane hurriedly followed behind without a care for the confused hostess and stares of the other patrons. They stumbled out of the doorway and into the street, bumping into several men and women waiting to get into the restaurant. Ricky grabbed Shane by the arm roughly, a little show of his strength, and flung him onto a wall in an alleyway a few blocks away from the diner. The noises of the city sounded afar here, and Shane could only hear the two’s gasping breaths, and his crazily beating heart. 

“Ricky Goldsworth, are you going to tell me your real name before you dismember me and leave me for dead?” Shane whispered. 

“My name is Ryan,” He said, licking his lips hungrily as he gently pinned Shane onto the graffitied wall. “And I’m not going to kill you, if you pinky promise not to rat me out.” 

“Oh, I pinky promise.” Shane laughed as Ricky shut him up with a sloppy kiss. 

After minutes of shamelessly groping and grinding on each other, Ryan finally pulled off of Shane to ask, “How would you like taking a cab to my home, and then I bind and gag you in my serial killer’s den?” 

Shane immediately felt a direct reaction in his pants. 

“Fuck, Google knows too damn much.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on @sufferblr on tumblr! I post bfu shitposts and memes.


End file.
